A side of unexpected insight

 

Am constantly astonished by all I gain working with my older friends, especially insights into character & courage.  

One of my clients recently moved from independent living to the personal care unit at her "life care" retirement community.  To me, it's a totally win-win change.  It's a lovely environment.  From the colors of the walls to the view out her window to the welcoming presence of staff & her neighbors in the halls, it's much warmer than where she lived for the previous five years.

Her unhappiness with the move goes beyond the natural sense of discomfort over shifting from a previous situation to a new one.  I doubt there is a single person in independent care who doesn't consider my friend the nicest, most pleasant & open to friendship person in the whole place.  Alas, the people where she lives now are seeing someone much different.  She doesn't even seem to try to get to know the new faces, doesn't seem to care that there are quite a few there she already knows & considers friends.  

Last night, I got a clearer insight into the WHY behind her persistent sadness over the change.  She's dealing with so much more than the loss of familiar routine (highly prized by people dealing with serious memory challenges).  She's trying to cope as best as possible with the loss of all the friendships made over the past five years, relationships that are the very foundation of the happiness she's felt in her current home.

 

She hasn’t lost them.  The only place she ever saw them was in the breakfast room or where she regularly has dinner.  Other than an occasional wave & friendly smile in the hallways, the only time they connect is at breakfast & dinner, and not always then.   

It’s understandable that losing connection with those five men & women would break her heart.  But she hasn’t.  I go over to breakfast six mornings out of seven.  She only takes two suppers out of seven in the personal care dining room – all the rest she either takes in the one in independent living or out with friends or family.   

She sees her cherished friends every morning – one always sits right behind us at breakfast, always greets her – and often at night. 

But she doesn’t remember.  

Last night was fiercely illuminating.  It was my husband’s 70^th birthday, so I threw a party for him there, in our favorite dining room.  Our full table – six older friends & the two of us – rocked with conversation & laughter.  Couldn't get much better – celebrating a big moment with friends who matter to us, with the extra bonus of a beloved client having a special time with her dear circle of friends.  She loved every moment – and doesn’t remember any of it.

Small wonder she isn’t taking the opportunity to make friends from the new faces in her new neighborhood, why she’s reported as having a serious chip on her shoulder when she is in social situations with them.  She feels like all her old friends were taken from her when she was thrust into an unfamiliar place. 

 

 

Because our dear friend HATES going back to her apartment before 8:30 p.m., we normally have dinner with one or more of her buddies, then nip her off to dessert (we’re now regulars of the recently opened York Diner’s totally delish yums).  Last Friday, she insisted on having dessert with her friends, in spite of warnings that would mean an early return to her apartment.  I wasn’t going to stand in her way, wasn’t going to drag her away.  So, she had her ice cream there, was back in her apartment by 7:45 p.m.  She was NOT happy.  And I learned an important lesson – if she has dessert in the Club Room, take her out for a cup of coffee.

 

Glad we learned that lesson before yesterday.   We had slices of the decadent cake I’d brought & (naturally) dishes of ice cream, so dessert was well taken care of by the time the party broke up around 7:30.  John nipped upstairs to get her jacket.   Off we went for a nice cuppa, with a side of unexpected insight.

 

We headed over to Michael’s, the closest family restaurant serving after 8:00 p.m., which was when I learned that the thing she found so hard to bear was not being able to see her old friends any more.  After her move, she didn’t see her old friends.  She didn’t remember having dinner with them just 90 minutes before.  She didn’t remember five minutes later that she’d had dinner with them 90 minutes before.

I knew that our dear friend was experiencing more profound memory challenges than she had six months ago, but until last night I didn’t fully comprehend how those lack of memories was affecting her life.  How would I feel if I’d lost John & then suddenly lost all of the close friends who made my present life bearable?  I’d feel just like Anne. 

Bravo that she’s able to pull it together enough to be simply unhappily resigned.  It makes sense to me that she’d make no effort to develop friends in her new neighborhood – she’s bereft at losing the old ones; her family’s efforts to maintain cherished longtime relationships aren’t working because she’s not remembering.  

I’m not a psychologist, have no counseling training, but it seems to me like the move has taken away not just a small sense of the familiar but has wiped out any sense of it.  She’s lost not merely her familiar apartment, the route to & from, the elevator she took & floor she lived on, but she’s lost everything that was once familiar.  Which would include longtime friends. 

While I’m sure that having regular contact with them registers within her heart & soul, it’s not registering in her active memory.  I recognize there’s nothing I can do to help change that, but there’s got to be something that might make a teeny bit of difference, if only for a moment.  So, today I’m taking my camera & nabbing pictures – at least one of her good buddies will be at breakfast, hopefully more.  I’ll snap photos with Anne, get them developed, mount them on colored paper & post them on in her apartment  labeled “Breakfast Buddy” or “Dinner Buddy.”  It might not make any difference, but it’s worth a try.

I know that there’s nothing I can do to stop my dear friend’s memory challenges from getting more & more serious.  It is a heartbreak to think that what I offer in the way of support & comfort might be drawing to its close.  As long as I can bring a smile to her face, can feel like something I offer makes a difference in her sense of having emotional ground under her feet, will keep on doing what I do, winging it as I go, learning from one of the best teachers in the universe – my dear friend, mentor & guide to the complexities challenges rewards of growing seriously older.